


In Your Absence

by withatwistedlyre



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: "I'm sorry" doesn't cover genocide Erik, #learningonthejob, (Prototype) Suppression Collar, Alex Summers is 180 pounds of angst and protectiveness, Captivity, Charles Isn't Paralzyed, Established Relationship, Hank isn't that kind of doctor yet guys, M/M, Mutant Suppression, No Beach Divorce, Obsessive Erik, Possessive Erik, Sean is a sweet puppy, Though that would have been better for everyone who isn't Erik, You should be more careful who you tell "I love you"
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 10:40:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18497251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withatwistedlyre/pseuds/withatwistedlyre
Summary: Instead of hitting his spine, the bullet Erik deflects in Cuba shatters Charles's collarbone. In their desperation to treat the wound his friends remove the prototype suppression collar that has throttled Charles's power for years, allowing him to keep it in check. With sudden and unwanted access to the world's minds, Charles exhausts the dangerous power surge by instructing humans not to fear or harm mutants. Then he falls into a coma.Charles couldn't have anticipated that he'd leave the humans vulnerable and unable to fight back against their own extinction.When he finally wakes up it will be to a decimated world that Erik desperately hopes they can shape together. That ought to go over well.





	In Your Absence

Charles was vaguely aware that Erik was grandstanding. He didn’t bother listening as he staggered out of the wrecked jet, shaking all over. His eyes were glued to the ground as he lurched forward, determined to restrain himself until the metal under his feet gave way to sand. He didn’t want to sully Hank’s hard work, his beautiful Blackbird. She’d flown so well.

He ignored the mess of alarmed thoughts that the other mutants on the beach were projecting.

_That’s_ Shaw. _\- Lehnsherr actually killed him. - Why the fuck is he just holding his body in the air like that? Sick. - Kinda scary, actually. - What happens now, will they try to kill Azazel and I as well?- The prof isn’t gonna be happy about this. –_

He caught snatches of their reactions while they listened to Erik saying something about taking off their blinders and who the real enemy was. Charles flinched away, not from the subject matter but from the horrific _ache_ that his telepathy brought him. Was it possible for an ability to be bruised, dented? His gift surely was.

The pain was nothing compared to what it had been when Erik moved the coin through Shaw’s brain tissue. That was true agony, bitterly sweetened by betrayal. But even when he understood what Erik had planned, he dared not release his grip on Shaw. Charles was the only thing standing between the man he loved and the fever-bright madness in Shaw’s mind.

What felt like eons after the coin had begun to move, when the torn brain around him had finally grown still and dim, Charles had tried to open his eyes. All he could see was darkness, absolute and unforgiving. _You’re dead,_ the telepath’s body informed him, unable to separate Shaw’s demise from his own. _Erik killed you both._

Then a familiar voice belonging to someone named Moira was shouting very close to his face, demanding that he wake up, her small hands shaking him with surprising strength. Startled, Charles opened his own eyes – and understood that he had only seen darkness because he was trapped behind Shaw’s closed eyelids, unable to lift them. Even a telepath cannot move the dead.

What a surprise, to find out he was alive.

The surprise was quickly overtaken by _pain._ Brutal, throbbing pain. His mind had been torn apart, leaving gaping wounds behind. His stomach heaved and Charles Xavier’s world narrowed down to a single focus: not throwing up in Hank’s nice jet.

It seemed a lifetime had passed before his feet finally touched sand. Charles barely had time to brace himself on his knees before he began to retch, the acid burning his throat. Unsurprisingly, this made the pain in his head worse; it pounded like a drum being beaten senselessly by an angry teenager with no thought to rhythm or melody. He barely had a chance to suck in a breath of air before he heaved once again, what little remained in his stomach coming up. He felt a warm hand on his back, the hum of concerned thoughts – Moira – but before he could reassure her that he was alright (a blatant lie), he heard his name being called. There was someone attached to that name, someone important. But that man was inextricably tied to all of this hurt, so Charles ignored him as he began to dry heave.

There was nothing left in his stomach to expel but his body wasn’t satisfied yet. Whatever was causing this awful feeling, his body wanted it _out_. His brain struggled for air, and the force of his heaves ruptured delicate blood vessels. He could _feel_ the petechiae forming around his eyes.

Suddenly there was a different hand on his back, chasing the other away. He startled, his skin jumping under the comforting circles that the large, calloused hand was rubbing there. He hadn’t sensed this person’s approach. He would have heard someone even in his current condition, would have felt their mind –

But Erik had put on that helmet.

Gentle fingers brushed his hair away from his mouth as he gulped in air. His body seemed to have finally accepted that retching was not the solution to ridding itself of the pain. Ridding himself of Erik may yet be an option.

Charles reached out, wrapping his hand around Erik’s arm. His grip would surely leave bruises later. He didn’t lie to himself that the punishing grip was only due to his head swimming. He wanted Erik to hurt, just a little. The older man didn’t seem to mind. Erik carefully steered him away from the mess, steadying him when Charles’s legs threatened to buckle. “Charles, Charles, are you alright?” No trace of the smugness his students had been reacting to now. Erik was coming down fast from his victory high. He was all concerned syllables and comforting consonants and he really needed to get a clue.

_So caring after the fact,_ Charles thought bitterly, then chastised himself. That Erik was asking at all when he was so obviously _not alright_ suggested that his friend didn’t understand what he’d done to the telepath. It felt a bit like giving up when he buried his face in Erik’s chest, longing for sleep. He was tired down to his very core. “Erik,” he managed, then cleared his throat when his voice cracked. “I was in there with him. The coin – it tore through me. You killed me too.”

_You hurt me._

Charles could feel Moira’s dismay and he heard himself through her ears. God, he sounded pathetic. That wouldn’t do. He bunched one hand into Erik’s suit, squaring his jaw and setting his shoulders back. He was Charles Xavier, son of a woman who could take in the end of the world with only a disinterested blink and a glance at her manicure, and he _would_ get ahold of himself. His students needed to know that he was alright. He reached a tentative mental hand out to brush over their minds, hopefully managing to reassure them before he grimaced and drew away. That _stung,_ like a hornet trapped in his brain matter.

He was caught off-guard by the wave of self-flagellation and regret that crashed into him. The emotions didn’t belong to him, or any of his students. The thoughts tasted like Erik’s, but there was something wrong with them. They were just noise and sensation. There was no foundation behind them, no sense of a _mind._ Somehow, he speculated, Erik was projecting beyond the helmet. Either his emotions were just that strong – which certainly seemed possible; they felt like they were eating Erik alive – or Charles was able to tap into some of his thoughts because of their physical contact. His telepathy was always stronger when he was touching someone.

He lifted his head to meet Erik’s eyes, transferring his weight to his own feet so that he wasn’t relying on the other man to hold him up. Though he didn’t let go of his arm just yet. There was no telling if his knees would betray him, shaking as they still were.

Erik looked miserable, and his free hand came up to trace the side of Charles’s face. He seemed almost unaware that he was touching Charles, as though his hand acted on a subconscious impulse. The need to touch, to hold onto, especially when he might be slipping away. “I never meant to hurt you, I’m _so_ sorry,” he said, face twisted like he was the one in pain. Charles caught a flood of fear as his friend projected, _you ruin everything you touch – you hurt him – what if he hates you now?_

No, never that. How could he? He loved him. He’d thought Erik understood that. He’d been so happy when Charles told him so, his whole mind abuzz with _helovesmehelovesme._

He shook his head, torn between exasperation and anger. “I could never hate you, Erik. I-”

But whatever he’d been about to say was stopped by Erik’s head whipping toward the ships, his sharp eyes narrowing. Ahh, right. He’d forgotten America was on the verge of nuclear war. Charles supposed that a shredded mind could do that to you. “They’re firing on us.” There was no surprise in Erik’s voice. Only a deep anger that was building quickly. Charles could feel the heat of his rage, like standing too close to an open fire.

What he’d said couldn’t be true. Erik was mistaken. Erik was confused. “What? No, no we _helped_ -” He cast out with his mind, finding it difficult to work through the lingering ache. But it didn’t take long skimming the sailors’ thoughts to understand that Erik was telling the truth. His devastation must have been plain.

Erik saw it. He pressed a quick kiss to his hair. Sweet Charles, who wanted nothing but peace. This world was doomed to disappoint him. “I know, love. And they’ll pay for failing to live up to your expectations. Stay here.” Erik pulled away carefully, making sure the telepath had his footing before he approached the others, ignoring Charles’s bewildered stare.

Erik’s anger was a living thing, coiling inside of him, eager for a target. The humans would regret turning on them. Though he wasn’t surprised, the look of crushed betrayal on his lover’s face was burned into his mind. They dared to fire on someone he loved? They would pay dearly. Erik called out to the others on the beach, “I can feel their guns moving in the water, brothers and sisters. Their metal, targeting _us._ ” Alarm bloomed across their faces. It felt fiercely _good_ to know he had the power to protect them. He hadn’t been able to save his mother. But his new family would survive. “Americans, Soviets, humans: united in their fear of the unknown. The Neanderthal is running scared, my fellow mutants!”

Raven gripped Hank’s hand tightly, unconsciously reaching out for her brother with her mind. Sean and Hank shared a panicked glance while Alex’s face twisted into a grimace of outrage. Azazel’s fingers tightened their grip on Riptide’s shoulder, ready to teleport them away as Angel looked up at them all with huge eyes, her wings no longer burning but badly singed. She knew she wouldn’t be able to fly away.

“But I won’t allow their fear to hurt you. Never again,” Erik vowed. “They are right to fear us.” His voice was grim as he turned to face the missiles being launched into the air. “Especially me.”

He allowed them to come half way to the beach, ensuring that he had a steady grip on all 84 missiles before he stopped them in midair. It was a stunning sight, watching them hang in the sky, and he reflected that he never could have done this with such precise control without Charles to anchor him. But as he took in the view, Erik thought they’d look much better facing the other way. The metal turned obediently in his grip, facing the ships.

“Erik,” Charles gasped, the distant fear of thousands of men making his empty stomach twist. He couldn’t mean to -? But clearly he did. Erik was not one to make idle threats, and there was no mercy in his friend’s eyes. “Erik, _please_ stop.” The telepath shook his head hard, rattling his brain as though that would clear the fog that gripped him. Erik was about to make a terrible mistake, he _needed_ to reach him.

Erik shut his eyes for just a moment. Pleading, Charles? That was unfair. When Erik looked over to Charles, he saw the telepath coming closer on wobbly legs, clearly still hurt – _so sorry, I’d never hurt you_. Erik’s expression softened despite his concentration on the deadly weapons, his voice earnest when he replied, “I’m doing this for us, Charles, for all of us. To keep us safe. If they want to start a war, they should be prepared to lose a battle today.”

“Erik, don’t _do_ this, you said yourself we’re the better men!” Oh God, those sailors were so scared. Some were clutching crosses or rosaries, mumbling prayers – a sergeant kissed the faded picture he kept in his pocket, the woman he hoped to see on the other side – a Soviet man whispered an apology to his mother for not writing back sooner – the gruff American commander hoped that his sister would take good care of his old hound, he’d never told her just how the mutt liked his ears scratched -

As Charles reached for Erik’s arm, the metal zipper on his suit yanked him backwards a step. It was not hard enough to make him fall but he did stumble, swaying as his vision blurred and his stomach flipped again. But that didn’t _matter,_ he had to stop his friend!

“Stay out of this, Charles. It will all be over soon,” Erik said, striving for both reassurance and authority. He stepped further out of the telepath’s reach as he approached the shore, eyes locked on the missiles. Charles fought the grip on his suit. He threw his mind at him, scrambling desperately at the helmet – he couldn’t get _in –_

Then there was a new sound in the tense air. Bullets.

Charles tried not to think less of Moira for her decision to shoot metal bullets at Erik. This was a high-stress situation. She was using the only thing at her disposal, and she’d hardly thought to specially commission ceramic bullets. Up until now Erik had only been a loose cannon, never a threat – 

The thought hit Charles hard. Was that what Erik was now? A threat, an enemy?

He certainly wasn’t dead, whatever else he was. Erik easily deflected the bullets, his mouth pulled flat in consternation. Charles heard Moira think that if he kills her then at least she’ll have died for people whose only crime was following orders, men with families – her father was a veteran – and as Charles opened his mouth to say something else, anything he could think of, he saw it.

Oh.

One of the bullets was coming directly at him.

His life did not flash before his eyes as it did in the novels he sometimes enjoyed. Instead, his entire vision narrowed down to the tiny grim reaper bearing down on him as he thought, _I wish the children weren’t about to see this – and Raven – oh, Raven –_

The bullet collided with his collar bone and he had a second to wonder what death would be like before he was flat on his back in the sand and – not dead? That might have been preferable. Instead of dying he’s coughing, his ears ringing and his mind a red landscape of molten _pain._

“Charles!” More than one voice. Some of them were probably inside his head, some outside, but he couldn’t comfort any of them, he could barely breathe –

“No!” The sound was an almost animal snarl of denial as Erik’s consciousness crashed into him. Incredible, really, that he could feel so strongly that it broadcasted out from the helmet. Or perhaps it only meant that Sebastian Shaw never felt anything very deeply at all. Erik was on his knees in the sand, and Charles caught a glimpse of his eyes, frantic beneath that awful helmet, but it hurt to look because there were explosions behind him, missiles going off in the air. He knew that was supposed to be a good thing, but he couldn’t think of why. “Charles, _mein Gott,_ I’m so sorry, _Charles_ -”

His friend’s fear was almost deafening, crowding out all else. And he was crying. Even if Erik had been about to do something terrible (because he had been, hadn’t he? Yes, that was the reason the missiles going off in the air was a good thing), Charles didn’t ever want to see him cry. He opened his mouth to say so when the pain lanced through him again, different from any pain he’s felt before, sending him into another coughing fit. It was the worst below his neck, along his collar bone. Apparently that was where he was shot. First killed, and then _shot._ What a lovely day.

“Shh, don’t try to talk,” Hank said, and – oh hello Hank, he was right there, pushing a clingy Erik out of the way. “Hey – hey, Professor? Don’t die, okay? That would suck, and your boyfriend would kill everyone-” The last part was probably in Hank’s head, but Charles couldn’t suppress a chuckle. He really should have though. Laughing made it all worse. Hank’s blue hands fumbled at the suit he’d designed, pulling it out of the way so he could inspect the bullet wound. Charles tried to stifle a whimper, but the growl Erik emitted implied that he hadn’t managed it. How embarrassing. Could one die of humiliation? One could certainly die of bullet wounds, but he thought dizzily that this one was taking a rather long time to kill him. Should he submit a complaint to the manufacturer?

Hank was talking. He’s always saying something clever, Charles really ought to pay attention. So he tried, focusing hard on the young scientist’s voice until the syllables began to make sense again. “-need to see the wound – _no_ , Erik, you can’t just take the bullet out, you could hit the subclavian artery. There’s something in the way of – what’s this thing around his throat? – a necklace? – I can’t –” A grunt, and sharp claws carefully avoiding his skin as they clanked against something private, something that was _his_ – “I can’t find a clasp for it. Erik, can you move it? It’s metal.” A brief pause as Hank examined the new chips in his claws. “I think.”

Wait. Wait wait wait _wait_ – “Wait, Erik, no, stop, _don’t_ -”

“What did Hank say about no talking?” Erik snapped, stress pulling him apart at the seams. “I can rebuild it after if it’s important to you, Charles. Right now you’re _hurt_ and I – oh God I – _bitte verzeih mir_ –” Charles felt the collar ripple against his skin, pulling tight against the back of his neck as it was tugged forward. The metal creaked in protest and Erik made a sound of surprise. It shouldn’t be so difficult to move. Metal always obeyed him so readily, but this thing was stubborn. It didn’t feel like any metal he’d manipulated before. Nevertheless, it _would_ obey him. The metal rippled again, still cool to the touch but reacting as though it were beginning to melt.

“Erik, NO!” A mental blow like that would have been enough to put anyone down, but that _stupid helmet_ – He snarled in frustration, clawing at the sand beneath him. Why would Erik never _listen?_

Hank again, sounding nervous this time. God bless Hank. “Erik, maybe we should wait, he’s –”

“We need to see!” Erik hissed and the metal around Charles’s throat became fluid, living, like a boa constrictor feels sliding across the skin. He remembered the feeling. He’d gotten Raven a beautiful emerald boa for her birthday when they were kids. Of course, Cain had claimed innocence when it disappeared. No one believed him, even his father. Kurt just hadn’t cared. The sensation might have been fascinating if it weren’t a prelude to the absolute end of Charles’s sanity.

Charles protested again, coughing, but of course Erik didn’t stop, staying focused on his task. He’d never met anyone so single-minded or so infuriatingly stubborn – and then his neck was bare, the collar slithering off of him. The adamantium alloy pooled in Erik’s hands, instantly hardening when his concentration lapsed.

When the screaming starts, Charles isn’t sure if it’s coming from him or someone else, maybe everyone else, all he can think is no, no, it’s been twelve years and I still can’t control it all and dear God it’s gotten _stronger–_

His mind had been a lake. Contained, placid, safe, with occasional ripples after a sudden disturbance. Now it was an ocean, rolling over everything and everyone, and those around him who were not already kneeling hit the ground with their heads cradled in their hands.

_I’msorryI’msorryIcan’tstopit._

He tried to force his mind away from the little cluster on the beach, at least away from his friends. Raven was the only one who understood, she wished she’d been quick enough to stop them from pulling off the collar but her brother had been _shot_ and she could only stand there in disbelief. Now it was too late, too _late._

_Not your fault, it wasn’t your fault, my dear._

He crashed into Azazel and Riptide, who fell back against the side of the submarine, stunned. _I’msorryI’msorry even if you were trying to kill us, my apologies_ – his manners seemed to shock them more than the fact that he was unintentionally running through their entire subconscious like a drunk man staggering into walls. But then, they were familiar with telepathy. He’d be fascinated any other time by Azazel’s mind, it felt _old,_ primordial even, but he knew if he didn’t get away from it right now he’d turn it inside out. Charles did his best to only brush by Angel. She was so young, he could only hope her pain will ease someday but he doesn’t blame her for leaving, he doesn’t, how could he? – her eyes widened in surprise –

Charles forced his mind further away and this time he’s certain it’s him that’s screaming as he casts his mind further only to find, oh, it’s already there – dear God, it’s not just there, it’s _everywhere._

Charles shuddered in horror and deliberately _didn’t_ focus on the other 3.12 billion minds he could feel. They were all there, waiting, pulsing with life, countless heartbeats and thoughts and dreams – oh God make it _stop._ He shook himself viciously, grounding himself in his physical body, in _Charles_ , though hands were quickly there to hold him down. Faint words, sounds from above the ocean he’d become. “Don’t move, Charles, you could make it worse, why are you screaming, please hold _still – mein Gott,_ what is happening to you, _schatz?_ ” Erik. Of course. He’d be the only one safe from the havoc Charles could wreak. That was a small comfort.

He grit his teeth to stop the screaming, thinking dizzily that it wouldn’t do to further distress Erik, given that nastiness with the ships. His friend hadn’t shown the best restraint under pressure. Speaking of the ships … Charles narrowed his focus to the sailors that had fired on them. Their minds were a mess of panic and awe, their thoughts running rampant.

_Abominations they’llkillusall unnatural thedevil’sservants disturbing theyshouldbeexterminated he’dactuallypissedhimselfJesusChrist fuckingfreaks hate f e a r_

_Go home,_ Charles told them curtly, and he felt their turmoil slide away until that one thought eclipsed everything else. If he had the energy to spare, he’d have been shaken by the ease with which he’d controlled them.

His blood burned at the injustice. They’d helped them, they’d proven themselves! But the humans had only proven Erik right. Erik had accused him of arrogance, but his only crime was hope, a blinding hope that could not allow for such an awful turn of events. How could they do this to his students, to their fellow Americans?

Desperate for answers, Charles cast about with his mind for the presidential war councils that must have given the order to fire on the beach. He found them far too easily, felt their firm belief that missiles had been the right call, tasted their shock that the missiles had failed. He could feel the same _anger fear unease unknown mutant threat FEAR_ in each of them. Charles tasted metallic blood in his mouth as he bit into his cheek. These men felt justified in taking action against the “threat” mutants presented because they were responsible for the safety of millions. But Charles’s students, his friends, _his little sister,_ their lives mattered too! It was an outrage, he was descending into a vortex of distraught fury and pain and the minds he touched felt that.

And he won’t – he can’t –

He could hardly think, could barely focus, and wondered absently if he might be dying. Erik certainly seemed to think so judging by the shouting and pleading. Charles must be a sight. The others were scared, for him and for themselves. They couldn’t understand why there was so much _pressure,_ why they could feel Charles’s pain now when the professor had never lost control like this before. And Raven, she was so worried -

But he was hurting her just by focusing on her, and the war council staff were beginning to groan in pain, so he cast a wider net, then wider still, thinking that if he could just spread himself thin enough then he wouldn’t overwhelm the minds he touched. 

Ripped free of its carefully-constructed moorings, Charles’s consciousness crashed into a sea of minds previously out of his reach, finally unrestrained.

He felt their shock, their instinctive recoiling from such an intimate invasion. He wasn’t stealthy or gentle because that would require _control_ and he no longer had any. At least their minds did not threaten to crumple like crushed soda cans in his grip. He’d guessed right. Holding so many at once (dizzying to think of just _how_ many, so he tried not to think of it at all) seemed to stretch his telepathy enough that he could hold them without harming them. He felt their alarm, their curiosity and confusion at the unexpected presence in their minds, but they weren’t in pain anymore. His friends and students gasped in relief. 

But he had to hold all 3.12 billion minds just to stop himself from hurting them. And between the worsening burn of the bullet wound and his already-bruised mind trying to accommodate so many others, he was slipping. He didn’t have long before it would become too much. And he didn’t know what would happen if his control faltered. Would everyone that was connected be hurt? Or worse? He needed to break away.

The suppression collar was worse than useless now that its seal was broken and he didn’t have time to coherently ask Erik to wrap it back around his neck exactly as it had been. There would be no returning this genie to its bottle. He had to exhaust this power somehow, in a way that wouldn’t hurt everyone. But how?

That wretched _burn_ – and Erik was still shouting, the only coherent one on the beach. His hands were shaking where they framed Charles’s face, begging him to be alright. That felt quite nice. He could melt into that touch, drown in it. Maybe manage to drown himself. Surely that would stop the burning.

Stop that and think, damn it, think! What to do with the whole world when he had to do _something?_ He wasn’t qualified to make such a decision!

A flash of blue in the corner of his eye. Shaking fingers curling into his suit. _“Charles.”_

Raven. Never safe, always hiding. _loveyouloveyouRaven._ What would he give, to make the world safe for his little sister?

Almost anything. And if there was ever a time and place for it …

He thought of her small blue fingers gripping his night shirt while he informed his mother that she was staying and that was that. Charles remembered the fear she projected when nightmares woke her, visions of people seeing her as she really was and hurting her because of it. How she’d climb into his bed afterward and would always radiate guilt at disturbing him (though he’d told her many times that he did not mind); she would barely touch him – just a hand curled over his arm to reassure her that he was there, that her new brother was real. Charles thought of his promise to stay out of her mind (broken now in the wake of this power surge) and his worry that he wouldn’t be able to make her happy if he was limited to only knowing what she told him, now that she told him so little. He remembered missiles coming toward her and the bitter taste of her terror as she unconsciously reached out to him, trusting Charles to protect her as he always had. His sister.

He could make her safe, if only for a little while. His thoughts fractured, spun into a kaleidoscope of sharp edges and sharper colors – millions of thoughts crowding his own – this was agony –

Right then. Protect Raven. Protect his boys, and Erik too, damn him, he loved him dearly. That’s what Charles would do. And if it killed him, well, there were worse ways to go than protecting your family.

Barely coherent in his own head, Charles gritted his teeth until they ached. His entire body trembled with exertion as he pressed down into every human mind, _Never hurt a mutant. They are your brothers and sisters. They are human too. Do not hate them. Do not abuse them. Do not fear them, and never, ever harm them._

The maddening pressure in his head waned, like a drain pulled beneath the sea. The spent power faded quickly. He didn’t have time to check the many minds he’d touched to see if he had succeeded, because Charles was already slipping away from them and into the darkness. He hoped that he hadn’t done any lasting damage. Surely it wouldn’t take long for them to shake off his rough suggestions, but maybe a grain of tolerance would remain.

As his mind dimmed, he brushes soft fingertips over Raven’s mind, letting her know what he’d done and that he’s sorry if it takes him away from her. At least she wouldn’t be alone anymore. Raven’s screaming at him, begging him not to die. He curled his fingers gently into her mind. It really was beautiful, just like she was; he hadn’t been inside her head in so long.

_I’m afraid it’s out of my hands, dear, but for you, I’ll tr-_

Like a lightbulb burning out, he’s gone.

~~~

With the roar in their heads gone, it was horribly quiet on the beach. Everyone was panting, but Raven buried her head in her brother’s chest and sobbed, her blue hands bunched into his suit. “No, no, don’t go, don’t _leave me_ –”

_He’s dead,_ Erik thought, and for one horrible moment he was completely certain that he’d lost the only person he ever wanted. Then he saw his friend’s chest rise and his heart stuttered with relief.

Charles was alive.

But whatever had just happened had put off enormous power and it had clearly hurt Charles as badly as the bullet –

Erik looked sharply at Moira, his lip curling back in a snarl. She’d done this. If she’d stayed out of it, Charles wouldn’t be hurt!

_He might not have been shot if you hadn’t pulled him away by his suit,_ a dark voice in the back of his mind pointed out. It sounded far too much like Shaw. He shoved the thought away viciously, prepared to take his anger out on the woman. The CIA agent was just standing there as though dazed, her eyes unfocused. She hadn’t moved any closer. “Don’t you even care that he’s hurt?” he snapped, his voice jagged. Had her friendship with Charles been an act? Charles had cared about this woman, so much so that it had made Erik jealous. All the hours they’d spent talking, discussing her dreams and his theories and the naive future they envisioned for mutants. After all that, she didn’t seem to care at all.

Moira turned to him in surprise, as if she’d never seen him before. Seeing the doe-like expression in her intelligent eyes – he’d never denied she was smart – well, it was disturbing.

When she spoke, her voice was sincere and regretful but very _wrong_. Erik felt the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “It’s a terrible crime to hurt a mutant. I should hand myself over for reprimand.”

Had she taken a knock to the head? “What the fuck are you talking about, woman?” he demanded, but Moira turned away, walking back to the jet to report herself to her boss.

It was Raven who answered. “He did something to them,” she whispered, her voice sounding wet and clogged.

“Who? The people nearby?” Sean asked, peering worriedly at the professor. Charles looked very pale. “Shouldn’t we get him to a hospital?”

“Immediately,” Erik affirmed, turning to the teleporter to request that he take them there. The red demon looked wary but agreed. Whether that was fear or respect talking, Erik didn’t know, but he was grateful nonetheless that he hadn’t needed to threaten him into helping. There would be little he could do against a man who could vanish in the blink of an eye. Erik was asking Hank which hospital they should teleport him to when he felt the distant movement of metal machinery as the ships began to turn around. 

“No,” Raven said after a long moment, answering Sean’s first question. Her eyes were fraught with emotion, both wondering and horrified. Her hands stroked her brother’s hair, hoping that she could offer him some comfort. “Everyone. Everyone who isn’t a mutant. He …” she swallowed hard. Charles had been thinking about her. “He told them not to hurt us. Not ever.”

She remembered catching a thought he’d been thinking when he slipped into her mind to say goodbye: the hope that he had done no lasting damage. Then she turned to look at Moira, who had hung up with her boss and was fastening handcuffs to her own wrists obediently. Her face was blank. No one home.

“I think,” Raven said slowly, “he did a lot more than he had in mind.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that you are enjoying my new story, you wonderful strangers. Please let me know what you think!
> 
> German:  
> bitte verzeih mir - please forgive me  
> schatz - sweetheart, treasure


End file.
